Pro Patria Mori
by Arvanion
Summary: After almost four years, the tides of war are starting to turn in Ylisse's favor. In a captured trench, two officers huddle inside a dugout and wonder what happens next. Written for Chrobinweek 2015. (Cross-posted from AO3.)


Icy mud clung to the bottom of Lieutenant Robin's boots as he trudged down the length of the unfamiliar trench. He kept his gloved hands jammed firmly into his pockets against the cold, wishing that the supply officers had been able to get better winter gear. Then again, perhaps it was selfish of him to want that. After all, the common soldiers were even worse off than he was.

He passed many of them as he made his way down the trench: gaunt and hollow-eyed men and women, covered in mud, who barely offered their officer a second glance, let alone a salute. He let it pass without comment. The soldiers were tired, and they had earned their rest. Earlier that morning, this fortification-barely a quarter of a mile beyond their own position-had been in the hands of the enemy.

The Plegian assault had begun in the small hours of the morning, with artillery fire raining down to pin the Ylissean soldiers in position. Then had come the gas: a stinking yellow cloud, rolling out like creeping fog towards the opposite trench.

Robin remembered hearing the sirens and shouting orders to his still-sleepy squad, bellowing at them to "Get your damn masks on, __now!__ " They had obeyed with alacrity, each one well aware what would happen if they did not. They had seen comrades screaming in pain, blinded and covered in the oozing blisters of chemical burns, thrashing in their sheets while the nurses stood helplessly by. There was nothing that could be done for them but wait, and hope.

Then had come the Plegian ground assault: hundreds of soldiers, rushing forward. In the early days of the war they had always shouted as they advanced, dedicating their battle to king and country, defiantly hurling insults in the teeth of their foes. Now they were silent, save for the __crack__ of rifles firing and the __thud__ of bodies hitting the dirt. The Ylissean response was too fragmented, and the enemy had reached the trenches, but Captain Chrom had rallied the troops, and driven them back.

That would have been enough for Robin, but the order came in: __over the top__. Everyone knew what that meant: a full-scale counterattack, through the maze of barbed wire and corpses, with a storm of enemy fire raining down on them the entire time. He had seen members of his squad fall all around him, but he spared no time to see if they were alive or dead. Every moment in the open was a chance to die.

Besides, he had to stay at his captain's back.

"Lieutenant!" Robin looked up at the call to see a woman with the chevrons of a sergeant stitched onto her coat waving him down. Her red hair was cropped short to fit under her bowl-shaped helmet, and there was an expression of disapproval on her face.

"What seems to be the matter, Sergeant?" he said, reluctantly removing a hand from his pocket to return her salute.

She stepped up next to him, and he tilted his head to compensate. He wasn't a short man, but Sully was two inches taller than him, and her self-confidence made her seem much larger than that. There was a somewhat irritated note to her voice as she spoke. "Could you talk to Stahl and Gaius for me?"

"What about?" said Robin, puzzled.

"You'll see," said Sully huffily.

Robin rounded the corner to see the two soldiers in question seated on the ground, leaning back against the wall. This in itself was nothing odd, but their bare heads, the thick smell of canned stew from an open pot next to them, and Stahl's guilty expression made him look closer. __Oh, dear...__

"Gaius. Stahl," he said, keeping his tone conversational as he nodded to each in turn.

"Hey, Bubbles." Gaius's naturally bright hair was filthy and matted, but his mischievous grin was the same as ever.

Stahl gulped and stammered. "H-hey, Lieutenant."

The lieutenant struggled to keep a straight face. "I wasn't aware that was a regulation use of helmets."

"It isn't. I checked," said Sully flatly.

Stahl blushed. "I... um. It seemed like a good idea at the time?" His hand had stopped halfway between his stew-filled helmet and his mouth.

Gaius, as usual, was much more confident. He took another bite, speaking through a mouthful of stewed beef. "Nah, it still is a good idea. Bubbles understands, don't you, Bubbles?"

 _ _What I don't understand is how I got that nickname__. Robin cleared his throat to stave off a laugh and shrugged. "I hope that you at least cleaned them out beforehand..."

"'Course we did. We're not animals," said Gaius. Behind him, Stahl tentatively finished taking another bite.

Sully glanced at Robin, then sighed. "Fine. If the Lieutenant will let it slide, I suppose that I can too."

Robin reached up a hand to tap her on the helmet, a faint smile coming to his face. "Treat yourself, Sergeant."

The tall woman snorted, shaking her head ruefully. "Sir." She crouched down next to the other two. "I don't suppose that I could get a sandwich instead? Hold the mustard."

The sound of their laughter followed Robin as he continued on into the bleak evening.

Robin pulled off his helmet as he ducked under the low-hanging doorway of the dugout, shaking his white hair free with a relieved sigh. The interior was dimly lit by a pair of paraffin lamps on either side of the entrance. "Reporting in, Captain," he said, looking up.

Chrom, seated on a makeshift bench of canvas-draped crates along the far wall, looked up with a smile. "Robin. Your rounds went well?"

"Nothing of serious interest to report," said Robin, stripping off his cold-stiffened gloves. He nodded to the silent presence next to the door. "Frederick."

"Lieutenant," said the captain's aide, his voice curt as it always was when he spoke to Robin.

Chrom rose stiffly and shuffled over to the other side of the dugout, where a small stove had been set up. "I was expecting you. Here, have some." He held out a mug, and Robin caught the strong scent of regulation coffee. __It might taste like mud, but at least it's hot mud.__ The lieutenant accepted the mug with both hands, wrapping them around the mug to feel its warmth.

"Thanks, Captain," he said. "How's the movement going?"

"I got a runner from Miriel's group earlier saying that most of the artillery has been moved forward. And the wind's in our favor, so we don't need to worry about any more gas attacks for a while."

"Thank goodness." Robin shook his head. The chemical weapons were the __magnum opus__ of the Plegian scientist Validar and his protege, Aversa. He had no doubt that the Ylissean government was doing everything in their power to capture or assassinate the pair before they came up with more horrors.

"I think that I'll perform a check-up of my own," said Frederick, detaching himself from the wall and reaching for his gloves. "Is there anything further you need, Captain?"

"Not at this time."

Frederick nodded to each in turn. "Very well. I will be off on my rounds then, sir," he said with a salute. Chrom nodded.

"Right. Dismissed."

As Frederick ducked under the door-frame, pulling his helmet on, Chrom returned to his spot on the bench, patting the spot next to him invitingly. Robin sat down gratefully, groaning as he did.

"Sore?" said Chrom, eyes sympathetic.

" _ _So__ sore," Robin agreed. He brought the mug up to his lips, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. The smell nearly overwhelmed him, and he coughed slightly, eyes watering. "Ah. I feel a bit more alive now."

His captain let out a bark of laughter. "They do say that regulation coffee can wake the dead."

"Then I guess it's a good thing we raked out the Plegians before we brewed it," said Robin, chuckling. He took a sip, burning his tongue, and sighed. "What do you think of this interior decorating?"

"A bit bare," said Chrom with a grin. "I'll have to put in a requisition for some wall hangings."

"Maybe that recruitment poster of you-"

" _ _No.__ "

"Aww, why not? I liked that one." Robin chuckled as Chrom glared at him. "Easy, easy, Chrom. I'm just teasing."

"Yeah, yeah." Chrom was silent for a moment, then reached into his pocket. "I got a letter from Lissa, earlier."

"How is she?" Robin knew Chrom's sister: she had been a year behind him in university, and Chrom a year ahead of him, when the war started.

"Tired. But doing as well as can be expected." Chrom held out the letter, the creases and folds showing that he had obviously already re-read it many times. "She's in Rosanne, at the moment, at a convalescent home for officers."

"Ah." Robin found it difficult to picture what that would be like. His entire life had shrunk down to the front lines, the trench, and whatever few moments they managed to steal outside.

"Apparently she gets on very well with the other nurses," said Chrom, injecting some cheer into his tone. "I just hope that she doesn't end up falling for some handsome wounded officer she's only known for a month, huh?"

"Not until you've had a chance to approve them, at least," said Robin, chuckling.

There was a long silence. Robin enjoyed it: a silence unbroken by gunfire, sirens, the boom of artillery, or the groans of the dying. __Silence is a beautiful gift, one that we don't appreciate nearly enough.__

He spoke. "Hey, Chrom?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"You already thanked me."

Robin rolled his eyes. "Not for the coffee, you ass. For... earlier." He stared into his mug. "That Plegian had me dead to rights, but she hesitated, and you shot her in the nick of time." He shuddered slightly, remembering the sudden emptiness in her eyes as she had fallen, her bayonet and rifle dropping from her nerveless fingers.

Chrom's hand on his shoulder shook him out of the recollection. "You all right?"

"Yeah." He took another sip of the coffee. "I'm just not sure what happens next. We've been at war so long that... well, you know?"

The captain nodded, but said nothing.

Robin laughed bitterly. "I can't picture anything in the future-nothing but surviving past this next day. Can you imagine going back to classes after this? Can you imagine going __home__ after this? To people who haven't seen what we've seen, haven't been where we've been? Because I __can't.__ " His voice went soft. "And that... terrifies me."

He felt Chrom's arm around his shoulder, steadying him, anchoring him. "Whatever happens, I promise you that we'll find out together. We'll be at each other's sides, just like we've always been."

Robin leaned his head against Chrom's shoulder, sighing into the captain's chest. "Just like we've always been."

Chrom chuckled. "Once this is all over, we'll get the old gang together and meet up with Lissa, and we'll have the finest victory feast you can imagine. My treat. I'll buy Gaius a whole damn cake, and he can kiss his memories of sugar rations good-bye."

"I bet Stahl's eyes will pop right out of his head when he sees the food," said Robin.

"And we'll have full sets of matching dishes. Frederick will be so proud."

"And what if Lissa brings some handsome officer with her?" said Robin.

"Sully can kick his ass for me."

Robin smirked. "But what if instead of a handsome officer, it's a pretty nurse?"

Chrom's jaw dropped. "I... had not considered that."

Robin prodded his midsection playfully. "You can be awfully thick sometimes, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

Another comfortable silence fell, broken only by an errant gust of wind that came through the door and blew over Robin's face, stirring his hair. The lieutenant shivered, then yawned, and Chrom laughed again.

"If not even regulation coffee can keep you awake, you'd better get some sleep. Here, get up." He pulled Robin to his feet, carefully setting down the mug on a nearby table, and pulled the canvas drape from over the crates, wrapping it around both of their shoulders like a mantle while they edged closer to the stove. "Better now?"

"Mhm," mumbled Robin sleepily. His eyes fluttered, and he burrowed deeper into Chrom's shoulder. "Night, Chrom."

"Goodnight, Robin," said the captain softly.

The silence fell once again, broken only by the crackle of the stove and their soft breathing. Chrom bent down and pressed his lips into Robin's hair: a chaste kiss, a moment of affection stolen from the desolation around them.

Moments of peace were preciously rare, these days, but every one of them __was__ precious.

Every one of them was enough.


End file.
